


you and me (we got this)

by someonelsesheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 08:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3684438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someonelsesheart/pseuds/someonelsesheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The door opens after a moment to reveal Lexa dressed in shorts and a tank top, purse in hand. She thrusts a couple of notes at Clarke without looking, eyes fixed on her phone, and then jumps when Clarke says, “I’m flattered, really, but I’m not that sort of entertainment.” </p>
<p>Lexa’s eyes widen and she snatches the money back. “Shit, sorry. I thought you were the pizza guy.” </p>
<p>Clarke winks at her. “Whatever you say.”</p>
<p>(the hot neighbour AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	you and me (we got this)

**Author's Note:**

> New day, new fandom. 
> 
> I don't own the 100; I have little to no clue about the American college system; this ship is ruining my life.

 

In retrospect, Clarke’s first meeting with her hot new neighbour probably could have gone a lot better.

She was tired. And hungry. And tired. And possibly hallucinating from too many energy drinks and – hey, did she mention she was _tired_? Listen: Clarke is a med student. She spends half of her time in a zombie state. So sue her.

She’s walking back from her last exam of the semester, up the ridiculous amount of stairs in her apartment building, when she suddenly finds herself looking at the ceiling. There’s a face above hers, too, asking “What the hell?”

This is no ordinary face. This is the face of a _goddess._ Clarke has lived in her new apartment a whole week and she has never seen this beautiful woman before. She’s tall, with sharp cheekbones and brown hair pulled back from her face. She’s dressed in shorts and a shirt, like she’s going jogging.

Clarke says, “Um. I’m…” She goes to say ‘sorry’, then wonders if she should introduce herself, and what comes out is, “Slarke.”

“You’re…Slarke?”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke rushes to say. “And Clarke. I mean, my name is Clarke. And I’m sorry for bumping into you. I’m, uh. Yeah. This is – this is embarrassing. I’m really tired and I wasn’t watching where I was going and – Please say something or I’ll keep talking forever.”

The goddess raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “Lexa. I live next door.” Then she turns on her heel and starts for the stairs.

“You’re not – you’re not going to help me up?”

“I’m late for my jog. Good luck, Slarke.”

Clarke’s head falls back against the floor and she stares up at the ceiling. Slarke. She’s never going to live that down.

With a groan, Clarke crawls to her feet and stumbles to her door, unlocking it after six tries and collapsing on her porch.

*

She sleeps for thirteen hours and wakes to very loud banging beside her head. She’s fallen asleep with her head against the front door and her knees pulled to her chest. When she stands, she aches, neck sore from the awkward position.

She opens the door with a grumble. Octavia pushes past her into the apartment, followed by Raven.

“Sure, sure, come in,” says Clarke. “Make yourself at home.”

They both ignore her. Raven says, “Your neighbour is really hot. She was leaving her house when we were banging on your door. Terrifying, but hot.”

“She kind of hates me.” Clarke sighs, turning on the kettle and grabbing the coffee out of the cupboard. “I bumped into her last night on my way back from my exam. Literally.”

“How’d that go, the exam?” asks Octavia, at the same time Raven shouts, “Get _in_ there, Griffin.”

“The exam was fine. And I’m never going to ‘get _in_ there’, Raven, didn’t you hear me? She _hates_ me.”

“Did she explicitly say that she hates you?”

“Well, no. But she refused to help me up.”

“Ah,” says Octavia. “Young love.”

“Just because you’ve been in a relationship since you were sixteen doesn’t mean the rest of us are puppies.”

“In a relationship with the _hottest guy ever,_ ” sighs Raven.

Clarke can’t really refute that.

“I’m not gonna hit on my neighbour,” she says. “It would make things weird. And, like I said, she doesn’t like me at all.”

Octavia watches her for a minute, then nods. “Come on. We came to get you for lunch. Now your exams are over, you can actually leave the house again.”

Clarke goes to freshen up and change her clothes. Octavia follows her, leaning against the doorframe.

“Just because Finn didn’t work out doesn’t mean you shouldn’t ever give relationships a chance again,” she says quietly.

Clarke pretends not to hear her, brushing the knots out of her hair. After a moment, Octavia sighs and leaves her to get ready.

*

The next time Clarke sees Lexa, it’s a week later and the power in the building’s gone out.

This would be fine, usually. It’s not like it’s the first time it’s ever happened. In the two weeks Clarke has lived in the apartment, the storms have knocked out the power three times. But those other times weren’t at midnight when it was below zero. Clarke pulls a blanket from her cupboard and wraps it around her, tries to go back to sleep.

After two hours of fitful turning, she stumbles out onto the balcony. The rain has stopped now and the thunder is only in the distance, so it’s safe enough. Clarke’s lucky enough to be both a trust fund baby and a damn hard worker, so between her job part-time at the library and her parents’ money, she’s managed a comfortable place for herself in a reasonable part of New York.

Her view is a busy road and her balcony is tiny, populated by only one dying pot plant, but it’s comfortable.

She’s out there for five minutes before she realises she’s not alone. She looks over to the balcony next to hers and finds two green-grey eyes staring at her across the gap.

“Oh,” she says, voice muffled by the blanket. “Hi, Lexa.”

“Slarke.” Lexa doesn’t have a blanket. She doesn’t even have a sweater. She’s just sitting there in sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, hair adorably mussed. She says, “This weather is getting rather inconvenient.”

“Need your beauty sleep, huh?”

“I get up at 6 for my jog and I start work at 8.”

“Where do you work?”

“I teach at NYU.”

“Seriously? Like, you’re a professor? But you’re so _young._ ” She couldn’t be more than 28. “What do you teach?”

“History. I like the wars.”

Clarke bets she does. “That’s amazing.”

Lexa shrugs. “It’s a job. I enjoy it, most of the time. What do you do?”

“I go to med school. Last year. I graduate next semester.”

“So you want to be a doctor?”

“I guess.”

Thing is, Clarke’s spent over eight years of her life getting herself to this point. She’s nearly qualified to be a doctor, just like her mom, but sometimes she finds herself looking wistfully at signs for art galleries and exhibitions. _That could’ve been me,_ she thinks. How different would her life be if she hadn’t followed in her mother’s footsteps?

“You do not seem very enthusiastic,” says Lexa, eyes softening.

“I…” Clarke sighs, snuggles down in her blanket. “It’s complicated. It’s too late now to change my mind, anyway. My mom would kill me.”

“It’s never too late.”

Clarke is surprised by the firmness of Lexa’s tone. She glances up and meets the other woman’s eyes. There’s a story there, Clarke knows it. But the sun is rising and Lexa is glancing towards the balcony doors, and suddenly the spell is broken.

“I should go.”

“It was nice speaking to you,” Clarke blurts out. “We should do it again sometime.”

Lexa watches her for a long moment, then finally inclines her head. “Preferably not in the freezing cold next time. I will see you later, Clarke.”

Clarke sure hopes so.

*

Clarke sketches Lexa’s eyes shining in the moonlight and tries not to think at all.

*

Some nights Clarke still dreams about the crash, the heat, the blood. Some nights she wakes up so angry, imagining her mother dragging her away from the car as it explodes with her dad inside. Some nights she can’t find it within herself to forgive anybody – not her mother, and least of all herself.

A couple of days after the meeting on the balcony, Clarke wakes up suddenly, heart in her throat. She stares at the ceiling for a long moment, chest heaving, before she rolls out of bed and goes to pour herself a glass of water.

There’s a persistent knocking coming from somewhere. After a moment, she realises that somebody’s at the _door._ She checks the clock – it’s 3AM – and shakes her head, padding over to the door and opening it slightly. She opens it all the way when she sees who it is. “Raven?”

“Hey, Clarke,” she says. She looks down at the ground. She’s got a bag slung over her shoulder. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“I think it’s more _early_ by this point. What are you doing here?”

“I need your help.”

Which is how ten minutes later, Clarke finds herself sitting at her kitchen table with her best friend, watching her as she brings his mug to his lips with shaking hands. “What happened? Start from the beginning.”

“After what happened with – with you and me and Finn,” Raven says quietly, “things have been. They’ve been strained. But we were still – it wasn’t _over,_ right? I still thought he was a good person. I mean, I’ve known him my whole life. But…”

When there’s a long silence, Clarke prompts, “But?”

“Last night we got into a fight. I found him with somebody else. I said it was over, and he said he wouldn’t let me go. I said he’d have to and tried to leave and he grabbed me hard.” Raven runs a hand over her arm, where five fingerlike bruises mark her skin. “He immediately snatched his hand back and apologised and apologised. But when he grabbed me, Clarke, he was so _angry._ I was actually scared for my life.”

Clarke sighs and walks around the table, wrapping her arms around her friend. “We’ll sort this out, Raven. He won’t come near you again.”

“What happened to him, Clarke? He never used to be like this.”

They both know that it’s a rhetorical question, because they both know exactly what happened to Finn Collins. After his dad died, he started hanging out with the wrong sort of people, assholes like John Murphy and his gang. He dropped out of college and started spending all his time in Murphy’s basement, doing things Clarke hadn’t liked to think about.

“He was so angry,” whispers Raven.

And Clarke gets it. She knows that Raven can look after herself, that she isn’t afraid of anybody, let alone her oldest friend-turned-drug addict. Raven’s not scared of Finn; she’s scared of what he’s become. She’s lost her best and oldest friend. Clarke doesn’t know what she’d do if that was her and Octavia.

Clarke hugs Raven tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Can I stay here until I get things sorted out, Clarke?”

“Of course you can. I’ll even let you take the bed just for tonight.”

“You’re too nice, Griffin. You deserve somebody to appreciate you.”

Clarke laughs. “Come on, Raven. Time for bed.”

*

So Raven stays. Clarke enjoys her time off college, catches up with Bellamy, goes drinking with Octavia. Raven works at a local mechanics, and since the break-up she’s started taking on extra shifts. One night Clarke gets home from work to find Raven asleep on the couch and sighs. She crouches down beside her and pushes her hair out of her eyes.

“Ah.”

Clarke jumps to her feet and nearly falls over again. Lexa is standing in the doorway, a strange look on her face. “My apologies. You left your door open. I was going to ask if you wanted to share a pizza with me, but I see you have company.”

Clarke shakes her head. “No, no, it’s fine. Let’s get pizza.” God, she sounds so eager, that’s embarrassing. “I mean, unless you’ve changed your mind. About –”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Calm down, Slarke. I’ll order it now – pepperoni and mushrooms okay with you?”

“Sure, sure. Let me grab my purse.”

“It’s fine. My treat.” When Clarke hesitates, Lexa smirks. “Clarke, I’m a history professor. You’re a med graduate. I think I can afford it.”

Clarke deflates. “Fine. I’ll see you in fifteen?”

“See you then.” Lexa moves to leave, then hesitates. “Your, ah, guest is welcome too.”

Clarke smiles slightly. “It’s fine, thank you. She’s probably out for the count, anyway.”

After Lexa’s gone, Clarke showers and changes into something more comfortable. She considers jeans, but eventually decides on sweats and a shirt with a sigh. Lexa’s seen her in a blanket; Clarke’s pretty sure she’s a lost cause, anyway.

Clarke leaves a note for Raven and grabs her best bottle of cheap wine from the cupboard. She knocks on Lexa’s door tentatively. The door opens after a moment to reveal Lexa dressed in shorts and a tank top, purse in hand. She thrusts a couple of notes at Clarke without looking, eyes fixed on her phone, and then jumps when Clarke says, “I’m flattered, really, but I’m not _that_ sort of entertainment.”

Lexa’s eyes widen and she snatches the money back. “Shit, sorry. I thought you were the pizza guy.”

Clarke winks at her. “Whatever you say.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “Come on, Slarke. Pizza’s not here yet, obviously, but you can choose a movie.”

Clarke hands off the wine and makes herself comfortable on the sofa, flicking through Lexa’s movies. Lexa’s apartment is so well-decorated and neat it’s hard to believe they live on the same apartment block. Her walls are decorated with art – the sort of art bought by somebody who knows what they’re talking about – and bookshelves full to the brim with an assortment of books. Everything is very, very clean, and very, very shiny, and Clarke feels so, so out-of-place.

Eventually she settles on _some_ form of video entertainment, too tired to worry over the many choices. “Alright, I’ve chosen.”

Lexa walks in with two boxes in her hands. “Good, because the pizza’s here.”

“I thought you were just getting pepperoni.”

“Did you see the look on your face when I said pepperoni? You hate it. I got you margarita instead.”

Clarke loves margarita. She may also love her really hot neighbour.

Lexa settles down on the sofa beside Clarke. Once she’s set them up with the wine and pizza, she looks at Clarke’s choice of movie. Clarke grins in anticipation, but Lexa just laughs. “You’re not ready for this commitment, Clarke.”

“What, the commitment of a TV show? It’s just one episode.”

“Sure,” says Lexa, taking a delicate bite of pizza. “Just one episode.”

Between important scenes, Lexa and Clarke talk. A lot. Lexa’s a woman of few words, but once she gets warmed up she shares more than Clarke expects. She tells Clarke about her family, how her parents and eldest sister Anya died when she was young and how she had nobody left. She tells Clarke about Indra, her best friend but more like a sister, how she’s ruthless and dedicated and will make a brilliant politician one day. Clarke tells Lexa about the car crash, about the strain between Clarke and her mother, about the way she can sometimes still feel the heat licking across her skin and the guilt that keeps her up at night.

Clarke falls asleep halfway through episode 5 of the show (something about pretentious lawyers that Clarke chose as a joke but Lexa actually seems to like) and wakes up an hour later because Lexa jolts so hard that Clarke slips off the sofa. She stares up at Lexa from the floor and says, “This is getting to be a thing, isn’t it?”

Lexa just smiles. At least this time, she helps Clarke up. Clarke’s a little tipsy from the wine and sleepiness and she nuzzles into Lexa a little bit.

“So,” says Lexa. “Has your girlfriend moved in permanently now?”

Clarke is so shocked she actually leans back. “What? My girlfriend?” She blinks, trying to think through the fog of sleep in her brain. She’s pretty sure she’d remember if she had a girlfriend. “Wait, you mean _Raven_?” She starts to laugh, barely able to catch her breath. “Raven’s not my girlfriend. She just broke up with her boyfriend and asked to stay for a while. She’s moving out on Monday.” Having found an apartment with a friend of Bellamy’s friends – Wick, his name was. ‘Like a candle?’ Clarke had asked, and Bellamy had just rolled his eyes.

“Oh,” says Lexa. “I see. So you’re not…?”

“In a relationship? No way. You think I have time for that with med school?”

Lexa seems to relax a bit, then. Clarke says, “What about you? You got a special someone?”

“A ‘special someone’, Clarke? Really?”

“It’s my way of not being gender-specific.”

Lexa snorts. “No, I do not have a ‘special someone’.”

Clarke leans back into the sofa and sighs as the episode ends. “I should get back.”

“You should.”

“This was nice.”

“Yes.” After a beat of silence, Lexa says with some difficulty, “I must admit, I do quite…enjoy your company.”

“Don’t burst a blood vessel or anything trying to compliment me.”

“Shut up.”

Clarke grins and stands, stretching. “I’ll see you ‘round, Lex.”

“Probably. See you later, Slarke.”

*

After that, Clarke sees Lexa a lot. Like, _a lot._ They start jogging together on mornings when they’re both free, and sometimes they even get breakfast afterwards, too. Octavia is waiting for Clarke one morning when she returns from their jog, sitting on the stoop. “Where’ve you been? It’s Saturday morning. You hate waking up early on your days off.”

“I went jogging.”

“You went _jogging_? Clarke, you _hate_ any form of exercise. Since when do you –”

There are footsteps behind her, and Clarke tries not to check Lexa out too obviously as she comes to a stop beside Clarke. Octavia’s eyebrows shoot right up her forehead. “ _Oh_. You must be the hot neighbour.”

“ _Octavia_.”

“What?” Octavia grins innocently and extends her hand to Lexa. “I’m Octavia, Clarke’s best friend.”

“Lexa.” Lexa shakes her hand once. “I thought Raven was the best friend.”

“We’re kind of a package deal.” Octavia’s phone beeps. She types something before looking back up. “I just came by to pick you up for our coffee date with Raven, Clarke, but it looks like you’ve forgotten.”

“Shit, Octavia, I’m sorry, I don’t know how I –”

Octavia doesn’t look angry. If anything, she looks delighted. “It’s fine. Go and get changed, Clarke, you stink. And you should come too, Lexa. The more the merrier.”

It’s exactly the kind of thing Lexa hates. Clarke is about to decline _for_ her when Lexa says, “Yeah, that sounds cool. Just let me get changed first.”

Clarke gapes after her as she leaps up the steps to the apartment building.

“How –”

Octavia smirks. “I’ll wait for you out here, Griffin. Hurry your ass up or we’ll be late.”

*

“So you guys go on, like, morning jogs together and have movie nights and stuff?” says Maya. “That is _so_ cute.”

“I suppose,” says Lexa, impartial as ever.

“Hey, that’s commitment for Clarke,” says Bellamy with a grin. “She never did that stuff with me even when we _were_ having sex.”

Okay, so apparently when Octavia said their _coffee date with Raven,_ she meant their _coffee date with Raven and everybody else they know._

“Come on, as if you’re able to sit through any TV show that hasn’t got copious amounts of gore and violence in it,” says Jasper.

“Actually, I’m more of a romance sort of person.”

Everybody stares at him.

“What? Please,” he says lazily. “Like I can’t be secure in my masculinity _and_ watch the Notebook fifteen times.”

“Fifteen?” Octavia says. “ _I_ haven’t even seen the Notebook fifteen times.”

Lexa makes a face. Clarke’s the only one that catches it. She says quietly, “What, you don’t like romance movies?”

“I think they make love out to be this incredible thing that it isn’t. Love isn’t strength; it’s weakness.”

Raven hears her and looks over, says, “Okay, Aristotle.”

Clarke shoots her a look, but Lexa just looks amused. “Sorry about my friends,” Clarke says. “I didn’t know they’d all be here. I know they can be a bit…much, sometimes.”

“Stop worrying, Slarke. I like them. I like knowing more things about you.”

Clarke doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t even try to formulate a response. She just looks at Lexa’s small smile as she listens to Monty talk, the way the light glances off her cheekbones, and thinks _Oh my god._

_I think I’m actually in love with her._

Raven says, “Slarke?”

Clarke says, “It’s a long story.” 

*

Clarke’s last semester starts, and suddenly she hasn’t got time to eat, let alone do any leisurely jogging. She still sees Lexa in passing, and sometimes they share Chinese food and watch terrible movies just to laugh at them. Still, Clarke _misses_ Lexa, misses the easiness of cohabitating with her, of seeing each other so much that doing nothing together is better than doing anything else.

Clarke begins to dream again, of pain, of fire. One night she wakes to moaning. She sits up in bed, switching on the light, before she realises that nobody’s dying; that’s good moaning. Happy moaning. Somebody’s having sex. In Lexa’s apartment. Lexa. Lexa is having sex.

Clarke stares at the ceiling.

She has no right to feel betrayed. She and Lexa are _friends._ Lexa has never given any indication of wanting any more than that. Friends. Just friends.

Lexa mutters softly, something like “I wanna taste you”, and Clarke jerks so hard she falls off the bed.

For a long moment there’s a terrible, terrible silence.

“Clarke? Is that you? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Clarke shouts back. “Just sexing. I mean, sleeping. Go back to. Whatever. You’re doing. Goodnight.”

She can hear Lexa’s laughs even with her pillow pressed firmly over her head. “Goodnight, Slarke.”

“Who’s that?” she hears a soft voice ask.

“Just my neighbour.”

And then nobody says anything at all.

*

Clarke’s not avoiding Lexa. She’s _not,_ it’s just that – okay, so maybe she’s ducked into a couple of shops to avoid Lexa, and maybe last time Lexa came to the door she pretended she wasn’t home. She knows it’s stupid, okay? It’s just – just.

Clarke had thought…It didn’t matter what Clarke had thought.

A week and a half into Clarke definitely not-avoiding Lexa, she’s about to go to bed when there’s knocking at her door.

She looks through the peephole, thinking it’s Lexa. It’s not.

It’s Finn.

She opens the door. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Clarke, please,” he says. “I know things aren’t great between us, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently and –” He moves to step into her apartment and she blocks his way.

“Finn, you didn’t tell me you were in a relationship while we were dating and then you tried to _hurt_ my friend. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“Clarke, come on, I love you. I know you love me too –”

“Oh my God,” says Clarke. “Are you _high_?”

“Don’t be like that, Clarke, babe,” he pleads. “I love you so much, I couldn’t stand it if you –”

“I think you should leave.”

She moves to slam the door shut, but he blocks her, eyes narrowing. She pushes the door again, but he doesn’t budge.

“Clarke,” he says. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says. She stamps on his foot and pushes him through the doorway, but he grabs her and pulls her with him into the freezing hallway. The door slams shut behind them.

“I believe Clarke told you to leave,” says a dangerous voice, and Clarke turns to see Lexa leaning against the wall, eyes harsh.

“Who the hell are you?” Finn spits.

“Clarke’s friend,” says Lexa with a small smile. “And you must be Finn.”

Finn’s surprise distracts him enough that she can break away from him and punch him so hard her hand _throbs._ He reels back and stares at her a long moment. Then he turns on his heel and flees down the staircase.

“Thanks, Lexa,” says Clarke, slumping against the wall.

“I did not do anything. You got rid of him. What did he want?”

“I mentioned to you that he was Raven’s ex. What I kind of neglected to mention is that he was mine, too. I didn’t know he was dating Raven at the time. I got Raven as a friend out of it, so I wouldn’t take it back. But it wasn’t pretty.”

“And today…?”

“What else? He wanted me back.” Clarke runs a hand over her face. “He was high. Jasper said he’d given it up.”

“Hey,” says Lexa, opening her arms. Clarke steps into them, drops her face to Lexa’s shoulder. A tear escapes.

“I loved him,” she whispers. “I wanted it to work out so badly. And he betrayed me.”

Lexa is quiet for a long moment. Finally, she pulls back and says, “Six months ago, I was dating a girl. Her name was Costia.”

“Was she the one I…heard?” Clarke blushes.

“Yes. She came to me that night and asked me to forgive her for breaking it off so suddenly. And I did. When I woke up in the morning, she was gone.”

“That’s terrible.”

“I knew she wouldn’t stay, but I tried anyway. Costia isn’t a bad person, but she’s done some bad things.” Lexa sighs. “Sometimes the people we love betray us,” she says, looking very sad. “And sometimes we try to redeem them anyway. Not for them, but so we can live with ourselves. The only way we can ever truly live with ourselves is by letting them go.”

*

The next morning Clarke wakes up to snow. She has class, but nothing too important, and elects – for the first time in a long time – to just stay at home. Her mom would be rolling in her grave if she could see Clarke now, and Clarke’s mom isn’t even dead.

She gets a mysterious text at 11AM, when she’s curled up by the window with a cup of coffee and a book, that says only **1PM** and **Ark Auditorium**. The number is private. She looks it up and finds that it’s one of NYU’s lecture halls.

Clarke frowns. It’s not Lexa; she has Lexa’s number.

Still, she’s not got anything else to do. And she’s not going to get murdered at a university, right?

It’s probably one of the stupidest things Clarke has ever done, and yet she can’t help but feel exhilarated as she joins a crowd of students entering the lecture hall, hood pulled low over her head.

It’s ten minutes before the doors swing open, dead on 1PM, and Clarke tries to look like she belongs here. Nobody looks at her too strangely, so she relaxes a little. At least until the lecturer turns to the room and Clarke gets a good look at her face.

“Lexa,” she whispers, and gets a strange look from the kid next to her. She ignores them. She had a feeling – but why would anybody – this just doesn’t make _sense._

“As you know, if any of you have actually bothered to look at the unit reader – which I’m _sure_ you have, yes, my diligent students?”

There’s a chorus of yes, of courses and laughter. The laughter is companionable, not mocking. The students love Lexa. Clarke isn’t sure she’s ever seen so many people turn up to an actual lecture.

“You would know that today we will be talking about the fall of the Ottoman Empire. Can any of you little freshmen actually tell me what the Ottoman Empire _was_?”

“Um. Turkey?” somebody calls out.

Lexa looks out mournfully into the crowd for a moment, then sighs. “It’s a start.”

And it’s not that the lecture isn’t interesting – because it is, it’s incredible, how Lexa actually makes it all sound so _fascinating_ – but Clarke barely listens because she can’t stop looking at Lexa’s face, her smile, the way she gesticulates when she’s passionate about something. Clarke has never seen her this passionate about anything, ever.

A young woman with dark skin and close-cropped black hair sits down next to her and smiles a little. “Entrancing, isn’t she?”

Clarke glances at her. “Indra,” she says, eyes widening. “You’re the one who texted me.”

“I figured it was about time we meet.” Indra smiles. “Lexa talks about you very favourably. It’s surprising.”

“Well, we’re good friends.” Her eyes flick up to Lexa, oblivious to them as she talks. “She never talks about her job. I guess I thought she wasn’t really – so enthusiastic – I don’t know.”

“She loves her job. And she tends to be careful with the things she loves.” Indra is looking very pointedly at her. They sit in silence for a while.

As the lecture’s ending Lexa asks, “Any questions?” and a student calls out, “How’s Clarke?”

Clarke splutters and Indra grins. “She was late one day and told them it was because she was jogging with you. Then they wouldn’t let it go.”

Lexa tells the student to mind their own business, but she’s smiling. She dismisses them.

Indra says, “You should talk to her.”

“I don’t know –”

Indra stands, still smiling faintly. “Talk to her,” she says, and she turns. She’s gone before Clarke can even open her mouth to reply.

Clarke considers just slipping out at the end of the lecture, but she doesn’t want to hide this from Lexa. She waits until the lecture hall’s cleared out and the last of the students with questions – and oh, there were _many_ – has gone before she approaches the podium. Lexa’s sorting through some papers and clearing up. She doesn’t look up when Clarke approaches. “Can I help you?”

“Actually, yes,” says Clarke, and Lexa’s head jerks up. “I didn’t know you’d been talking about me behind my back.”

“Nothing too terrible, I promise.” Lexa leans against the podium and raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Indra invited me. It was all very mysterious.”

“Mysterious?”

“I’ll tell you another time, maybe.”

“What did you think? I know history is not really your discipline.”

“I thought it was wonderful. It was – you’re beautiful. I mean. Your passion. Your passion is beautiful. I, um.”

“You did, huh?”

“I didn’t mean to, ah, invade your space or whatever.”

“I would have invited you along before, but…I wasn’t ready for you to tell me that you did not enjoy it, I suppose.”

“Indra said it’s because you’re careful with the things you love.”

Lexa smiles faintly. “That’s true.” Her eyes drop to Clarke’s lips, and Clarke’s tongue darts out to wet them. Her mouth feels suddenly very dry. Lexa makes a move as if to step forward, and then shakes her head and says, “I’ll see you back at home, okay? I have a meeting in –” She looks at the clock. “Ten minutes ago.”

It’s an obvious dismissal, but all Clarke hears is _home_ and she nods. “Don’t work too hard.”

Lexa shoots her a brief smile and quickly kisses Clarke’s cheek before she rushes from the room. Clarke stands there for a very long moment, still feeling Lexa’s lips against her skin.

*

Clarke spends a lot of time staring out the window that afternoon, feeling like a bow strung tight. As evening approaches, she makes a stir-fry, needing to do something with her hands. She makes too much, so she puts it in a container and takes it around Lexa’s.

Lexa is dressed in only a robe when she opens the door, hair wet from the shower. She sniffs the air and says, “That smells amazing.”

Clarke grins. “I made stir-fry, thought you might want to share it with me.”

“Let me just get changed.”

“You don’t need to, if you don’t,” Clarke begins, then realises what’s she saying and blushes red. “Never mind.”

Lexa shoots her an amused look and disappears into her room. She returns in shorts and a top, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looks beautiful like this, so comfortable and soft. She accepts the bowl from Clarke and sits on the sofa beside her.

“Did you want to watch something?” asks Clarke, antsy in the sudden silence. Usually their silences are comfortable; now she feels too big for her skin. 

“Not tonight.”

And the silence continues. Clarke finishes her dinner and takes her bowl to the kitchen, and after a moment Lexa follows. They wash their bowls in silence. Eventually, Clarke can’t take it anymore. She spins around and says, “Listen, if you’re mad because I turned up at your –”

She doesn’t get to finish because Lexa surges forward and kisses her. Clarke lets out a noise of surprise and kisses her back, hands dropping to her waist. Lexa presses her back into the kitchen surface, thumbs digging into Clarke’s hipbones.

“You’re so,” Lexa breathes, kissing down Clarke’s neck. “You do these things and I –” She drops to her knees, nose nuzzling into Clarke’s stomach.

“We should –” Clarke gasps. “We should talk first.”

“After,” says Lexa, and she pushes Clarke’s dress up around her waist and then Clarke isn’t thinking at all.

*

When Clarke wakes Lexa’s gone. She feels the other side of the bed and it’s cold. Gritting her teeth against the horrible feeling in her chest, she throws her legs over the side of the bed and pads into the kitchen. She spots Lexa sitting on the balcony, hands closed around a mug.

“I thought you were trying to let me down easy,” says Clarke, sitting down on the seat next to her.

“Clarke,” Lexa begins, and then she wavers. “I –”

“If you’re about to start some spiel about this not working out, I don’t want to hear it. I’m not Costia, Lex.”

Lexa sighs. “I just don’t think…Clarke, you have to understand. I _do_ like you, very much, but I –”

“Lexa, stop it,” Clarke snaps, and Lexa actually does. “I love you, okay? This isn’t some stupid thing to me. Don’t break my heart.”

“Love is weakness.”

“Love is _strength,_ ” says Clarke, taking Lexa’s hand in hers. “Try this with me? Please.”

Lexa is quiet for a moment. Finally, she squeezes Clarke’s hand, and reels her in. Clarke perches high on Lexa’s legs, and Lexa pulls her in close. Lexa kisses her gently this time. There’s no heat behind it, no urgency. Clarke revels in the feel of Lexa’s hands on her shoulders, sliding down her arms.

“I love you too, Clarke,” she says quietly. “Ever since the day I left you on the floor after you fell over like an ass.”

“You had to go and ruin it, didn’t you,” Clarke sighs, and kisses her again. She’s laughing as she does.

**Author's Note:**

> you can follow me at dontholdthiswarinside.tumblr.com. come cry over clexa with me.


End file.
